7 Days of Jefferson
by iColor With Crayons
Summary: Because it is Thomas Jefferson's birthday, and because I am the queen of procrastination, I present to you: 7 Days of Jefferson! Vern is a college student who is just trying to fulfill a class obligation when she's touring Monticello. Little does she know, she's about to bring home the strangest souvenir of all time - Thomas Jefferson.


Day 1

"And Jefferson's tomb is just down that way," The tour guide gestured off in the direction of a stone monument.

The rest of Veronica Moseley's class looked off in the direction that the guide was pointing, all of them looking extremely disinterested. Sensing their disinterest, the tour guide frowned before steering the group off in the direction of the gift shop.

It was a basic American History class for the University of Virginia, and this was the annual class trip to Monticello. Everyone was responsible for driving themselves to and from the estate, but their tickets were free. Veronica – known to her friends as Vern – was the only history major in the class, and was consequently the only student interested in the tour. As the only student interested in the tour, Vern felt justified in leaving the pack to visit Thomas Jefferson's tomb.

It wasn't a very impressive tomb, but he was an impressive man, so Vern felt obligated to say something. "Thomas Jefferson…"

"Yes?"

Vern whipped around in surprise. As far as she knew, she had been alone. Now, it appeared that a Thomas Jefferson impersonator had joined her at the tomb. Vern's face flushed. She looked around for anyone who might save her from this uncomfortable interaction.

"You addressed me," The impersonator persisted, his eyebrows furrowing. "By my Christian name, I might add. Who are you, girl? You're not mine. Do you belong to Mr. Madison?"

Vern stared at him in shock. It sounded like he was implying that she was a _slave_. Being historically accurate was one thing, but to speak to any visitors that happened to be black as though they were slaves was crossing more than a few lines.

"Excuse me?" Vern finally choked out.

The impersonator sighed and rolled his eyes. "Who is your master? Does he know that you're here? Has he sent you here for any particular reason?"

"I don't have a master," Vern snarled. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket as she glared down the impersonator. "What's your name? I'm going to report you to your supervisor."

"What is that?" The impersonator asked, his focus narrowing on the cell phone. "Where did you get that?"

"Cut the shit; pretending to be Jefferson isn't going to save you. What's your name?" Vern demanded, starting to dial the service desk's phone number.

"Thomas Jefferson," The impersonator murmured distractedly. He inched closer, never taking his eyes off of Vern's phone. "What is that? Is it a small box of sorts? Are you concealing letters from your master? Are you a spy?"

"What? No!" Vern yanked her phone away as the impersonator reached out for it. "Would you please stop?"

"I demand that you show me this contraption at once! As the Vice President of this country, I - !"

"Vice President?" Vern raised her eyebrows and smirked ironically. "You were the president, dude. Is this your first day?"

The impersonator looked at Vern like she had lost her mind.

"John Adams is the president. To say otherwise is treasonous, girl."

That was when the possibility that this man might really be Thomas Jefferson dawned on Vern. It took another hour for her to be fully convinced, but once she was, she was left with a whole new set of problems. Namely, what does one do with a founding father who was somehow transported to the year 2017?

"2017?" Jefferson couldn't seem to believe it when Vern told him. Vern couldn't believe it, either. "And America is still alive and well? What of the Alien and Sedition Acts? Have they overturned the Constitution?"

"Um, no. America is good…kind of. I mean, the president is well…"

"A federalist?" Jefferson interrupted, his nose wrinkling.

"No, not a federalist. Um, the political parties have actually changed a lot since you died."

"But I was the president before I died?" Jefferson was fixated on that fact.

"Yes, you were the president." Vern rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I should really go…"

She pulled out her car keys and started backing away from what was presumably the ghost of Thomas Jefferson.

"What is that?" Jefferson stared at the keys.

"Just my car keys." Vern was backing away, still trying to get out of the situation.

"What is a car? Is it some type of home?" For every step that Vern took back, Jefferson took two forward.

"More like a motorized carriage," Vern was still trying to get away. "Anyway, I should really be leaving now. I have to get all the way back…home."

"Show me the motorized carriage."

"No?"

"I demand it!" Thomas Jefferson sounded more like a petulant child than one of America's founding fathers.

"Okay, first thing – and this is very important to me – I am not a slave. Slavery was outlawed almost two hundred years ago. You don't get to insist that I do anything, ever. Second, I don't think that I should show you my car. I don't think that you'll handle it well."

"Slavery was abolished?" Jefferson inquired with a disbelieving smile. His expression was not one someone would expect a slaveholder to sport upon hearing about emancipation. He actually looked _happy_. Shocked, but still happy. "How? We discussed the matter in great detail, but couldn't imagine a way to go about it without dividing the country. The economy is – _was_ – so dependent on it. How ever was it managed?"

"It divided the country," Vern answered simply, shrugging. "The president decided that freedom was worth more than avoiding a civil war. Why are you happy, anyway? Didn't you own, like, _hundreds_ of slaves?"

"They were necessary," Jefferson insisted. "The economy would have toppled without them; had I deviated from the norm, I would have been bankrupt. My farm would have been inoperable. I did fight for nation-wide emancipation, but the country was not yet ready for such a radical idea."

"Says the man who declared independence from a monarchy that had been around for thousands of years." Vern rolled her eyes.

"If you aren't a slave, who are you?" Jefferson looked Vern over critically.

"My name is Vern Moseley," Vern gave up on trying to escape him. "I'm a student. We're just here to tour your house while we learn about the Revolution. I, um, I didn't think that you would be here. Your corpse, maybe, but not you."

"A student." Jefferson looked impressed. "In university?"

"Yes," Vern confirmed, folding her arms across her chest. "Black people are allowed to read and write these days. I know. Pretty extreme for April 13, 2017."

"April 13th?" Jefferson perked up for an entirely different reason. "That's my birthday!"

"Uh-huh." Vern nodded, eying him oddly. "Happy birthday."

"Perhaps that is why I'm here." Jefferson mused, beginning to pace in front of his own tomb. It was a pretty morbid sight, but Vern chose not to focus on that. "Perhaps if someone addresses me on my birthday, I arrive in the present. The present time for you, of course. I was just writing a position piece on the Alien and Sedition Acts in _my_ present time."

Vern couldn't believe that no one had said "Thomas Jefferson" outside of Thomas Jefferson's tomb on Thomas Jefferson's birthday before, but Jefferson appeared to be at just as much of a loss as she was.

"Maybe. I don't know. Um, I guess if you get brought back in the next few years, now you'll know why! Anyway, I really should go. The sun is going to be setting soon, and the roads around my apartment get pretty dangerous past a certain hour. You know, drunk driving and all…" Vern tried once again to get herself out of this objectively ridiculous situation.

"Are birthdays a celebrated occasion in this time?" Jefferson asked, seemingly oblivious to Vern's attempts to get away.

"Yeah…" Vern felt like she should have lied about that particular thing, but didn't exactly know why.

"For a present, I would like to ride in your motorized carriage." That was why. "You should not refuse a man's birthday wish."

Vern looked down at her phone and sighed. Her roommate had texted, asking if she would be home for dinner. They were going to order pizza and watch whatever happened to be on TV that night. Vern had a feeling that bringing along one of America's founding fathers would not be a very normal thing to do.

"Just a short ride." She decided. She would drive him along the highway for just a short while before turning around and dropping Jefferson back off at Monticello. "…You're really Thomas Jefferson and not some deranged impersonator serial killer, right?"

"What is a serial killer?" Jefferson asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Fair enough." Vern sighed, twirling her keys around her index finger and taking steps back in the direction of the parking lot. Jefferson stepped forward, following her. His eyes were alight like the fourth of July. "But we're just going up the road and back, okay? This isn't an invitation for me to drive you everywhere that you need to go."

"I thought that I would get to drive." Jefferson was back to pouting.

"You don't have a driver's license." Vern shook her head, turning around to pay attention to where she was walking. Jefferson bounded after her eagerly. "You can't drive without a driver's license. Even if you could drive the car without killing us both in a fiery wreck, if you got pulled over, you would go to prison and my car would be impounded. Pass."

"What is a driver's license?" Jefferson inquired as they walked through the parking lot.

"It's a government-issued permit to drive. You have to pass a test, pay a fee, and make it through an eighteen-month probation period and then you're a bona-fide driver." Vern listed off the requirements as they walked through the parking lot. She used her right hand as a visor, shielding her eyes from the sun in order to better look for her crappy Ford Freestyle.

"The government regulates who can drive?" Jefferson's upper lip curled in disgust. "And they accept money to govern this? That must have been a decision of one of Hamilton's disciples…does the Treasury control the regulation of drivers' licenses?"

"No," Vern answered shortly. "I think the idea is that the roadways are under the government control, so they can decide who does and doesn't drive it, according to a set list of rules and regulations."

"Absurd." Jefferson scoffed.

"Maybe, but that's the way it is. You either want a ride in my car, or you don't." Vern answered him simply.

"I do," Jefferson said decisively.

"Great. Then your chariot awaits." Vern gestured towards her car as they approached it. She opened the door to the driver's side and hopped in. She waited for Jefferson to do the same on the passenger's side. Unfortunately, he appeared to be baffled by the door handle.

"Christ," She murmured to herself, rolling down the window to the passenger's side. Jefferson looked up from the door handle, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the window rolling down at the press of a button.

"How did you do that?" He asked in awe.

"Oh, my god. If you ask me to explain every single mechanism of the car, I'll never get home. Look, just grab the handle, put pressure at the bottom of it, and pull it towards yourself, okay?" Vern instructed him impatiently.

Jefferson glared at her before following her instructions. His anger evaporated as he leapt into the car. He smiled proudly to himself before proclaiming, "They really should just put knobs on those doors. I imagine that would make them infinitely less trouble."

"You know, I've never had trouble with the way they are," Vern remarked, inserting her key into the ignition and starting the car. Jefferson watched her, amazed. His enchantment with commonplace 21st-century technology might have been amusing, had the situation not been one that Vern was trying so desperately to distance herself from.

Jefferson continued asking questions and being amazed by technology as Vern got onto the highway. She either half-heartedly answered his questions or just let him ask his questions.

Then came the next problem.

"Oh, no."

There had been some kind of accident, and now traffic was a nightmare. Every exit was backed up, getting home would take upwards of two hours, and Vern only _barely_ had enough gas to make it home at that rate. She did not have enough gas to go back to Monticello to drop Jefferson off before she went home. She was therefore left to make a decision that she did not like one single bit.

"Hey," The words tasted like acid in her mouth. "Listen, I need to make a stop at a gas station near my apartment. By the time we get there, it'll be pretty late. How about I bring you back tomorrow morning?"

"Yes." Jefferson approved, his smug smile suggesting that he had been hoping to stay out in 2017 for longer than just one car ride.

"Okay…" Vern sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Now I just need to figure out how to explain you to my roommate."

"There you are!" Vern's overeager roommate, Magdalena – known to everyone as Maggie – exclaimed when Vern finally stepped through the door of their dingy apartment. The smell of pizza wafted from the apartment. The sound of a sitcom theme song could be heard from the front door. Maggie was all prepared for a night in with the TV. Jefferson stood on his tiptoes behind Vern, hoping to understand what was going on around him. "What took you so long? I thought your tour ended hours ago!"

"Traffic was terrible," Vern answered with an apologetic smile. "And, um…well, I brought home a friend."

Jefferson darted out from behind Vern, recognizing his cue. "Hello, miss."

Maggie's eyes widened in surprise. She looked over Jefferson; his odd attire, the way he looked around him like he had landed in Oz, and his height. He was almost an entire foot taller than Maggie.

"Hi," Maggie regained her composure quickly. She turned to look at Vern with a knowing smile. Vern rolled her eyes and sighed at the smile. "I didn't realize that you would be bringing home a souvenir."

"Maggie, this is Thomas. Thomas, Maggie." Vern didn't bother putting too much effort into the introduction.

"Mr. Jefferson," Jefferson appeared insulted by Vern's casualization of his name. Vern didn't worry about it.

" _Anyway_ ," Vern glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm going to have to bail on tonight. I'm so sorry. I'll explain everything tomorrow. More or less. Mr. Jefferson, if you would follow me."

"Yes." Jefferson pretended that Vern had only persuaded him by using his correct form of address.

"Wait," Vern never brought home guys. Maggie, on the other hand, had a constant stream of lovers – male and female – coming and going. She appeared fascinated by the one man that Vern had decided to bring home. "Are you hungry? Do you want any pizza?"

"What is _pete-zah_?" Jefferson asked, his eyes alight with interest. He turned to get a better look at the TV. "Is the portrait inside that frame _moving_? Fern, do you see the moving portrait?"

"It's _Vern_ ," Vern grumbled, piling pizza on two separate plates for her and Jefferson. "And yes, I see it. Come on, I have one in my bedroom, too."

"Your bedroom?" Jefferson looked aghast. "But I can't join you in your bedroom."

Ah, yes. He could sleep around with his slaves, but his sensibilities could not handle entering a young woman's bedroom. There was that 18th-century hypocrisy that so many people forgot about.

"Wait a minute," Maggie was grinning like she was starting to understand the absurd situation.

"No." Vern grabbed Jefferson and hauled his lanky figure off in the direction of the bedroom. He might have been taller than her, but her center of gravity was much more stable than his was. He had no choice but to stumble after her, letting out strings of indignant cries all the way.

"What is the meaning of -!"

"Look," Vern didn't let him get through his tirade. She closed the bedroom door behind Jefferson and allowed her voice to get louder. "If you're going to be here, you need to fit in. You need to stop imposing your 18th-century chivalry and you need to start following 21st-century rules. You're going to sleep on my floor tonight. Tomorrow, I'm going to skip my 8am class and bring you back to Monticello. Any questions?"

"Yes," Jefferson had begun to eat his pizza while Vern was speaking. He'd begun by nibbling at the edges cautiously, but was now taking bites that were comparable to that of a wolf. "What is this made of?"

"Um, I don't know. Dough, marinara sauce, cheese." Vern shrugged, snatching her plate out of Jefferson's reach before he devoured her pizza, too.

"Marinara sauce?" Jefferson inquired.

Vern rolled her eyes. "It's going to be a long night."

Day 2

"This is incredible." Jefferson proclaimed, his mouth full of pizza as Vern drove her decrepit car back to Monticello. "I am riding in a motorized carriage and I am dining on a delightful meal of _pete-zah_ in my lap, like a commoner! Do you know that I have never had a meal without full place settings before? Is this how everyone consumes their meals in this year? When did this become the way to eat?"

"Mm, around the time that motorized carriages became popular," Vern remarked, not paying much attention to the ecstatic founding father to her right. "Eating makes driving a little less dull."

"Dull? But how ever could it be _dull_?" Jefferson demanded.

"How could riding a horse to and from places be dull?" Vern countered.

"But this is not like that at all!"

"It's exactly like that."

Jefferson pouted, settling into his seat.

Just as Vern was trying to think of something to say to break the silence that had fallen over the car, it stalled. It stalled and crept forward slowly, struggling on heroically towards Monticello. It was all in vain. The car had hardly moved a mile since stalling when Vern had to pull over onto the shoulder.

"Damn it!" She hissed, slumping forward. Her head hit the steering wheel as she allowed her posture to resign just as much as her emotions had. The pressure caused the horn to blare. A few passing cars honked their horns in retaliation but did not slow down to help. Jefferson jumped at the noise and looked around for some sort of sign. It was apparent that he did not understand the situation; he didn't even know if it was a good or a bad situation. "I just bought new windshield wipers for this car! If it dies, that'll be sixty bucks I wasted."

Jefferson's eyes widened. "You spent _sixty dollars_ on this carriage? That's absurd! What merchant charged you such an outrageous amount?"

But Vern did not have time to explain inflation to Thomas Jefferson. Her car was broken down on the highway, she had a class in a few hours that she had already missed too many times throughout the semester, and she really did not have the money to afford a new car.

"Get out." She said instead. Her voice was quiet.

"I beg your pardon?" Jefferson's eyebrows furrowed.

"Get out of the car." Vern clarified. "I'm going to have to call triple A. We shouldn't sit in the car, though. There's a chance somebody will veer off into the shoulder and hit the car. We're much better off sitting on the grass here."

Though he did not look entirely convinced, Jefferson gingerly stepped out of the passenger side of the car and followed Vern onto the grassy patch on the other side of the roadside barrier. Safely away from the steady stream of traffic, Vern called Triple A. They estimated that it would take them half an hour to even arrive. Vern reluctantly agreed to this time span. She grabbed two emergency water bottles from her car, as well as a box of pop tarts that she always kept on hand, and handed Jefferson her digital watch to keep him entertained until the car was working again.

* * *

"What did we learn today?" Vern demanded irritably as she and Jefferson walked down the length of the highway towards the nearest exit.

"Not to say n –"

" _Don't_ say it."

"I do not understand," Jefferson said for the third time in the span of the thirty minutes that they had been walking. "Why did he get so offended?"

"It's an offensive word."

"But why is it considered so offensive?"

"It just is."

"That is not a sufficient answer."

"I don't need to give you a sufficient answer. The fact that we must walk thirty miles to the nearest gas station because you offended the guy from Triple-A with a super racist word is proof enough." Vern sniped glumly.

Jefferson remained silent for a few minutes; the only audible noise was their shoes scuffing against the tattered asphalt of the road. A few cars honked their horns at Jefferson's colonial clothes. Jefferson jumped every time. Vern did not. She was too focused on her anger to worry about cars honking.

"Could we order a pizza with your correspondence mechanism?" Jefferson finally asked, breaking the much-needed silence.

"Where would you like to order the pizza to?" Vern asked sarcastically. "Do you want me to tell the driver to just drive along the highway until he sees someone wearing a costume from 1791?"

"Well, why not?"

"Because it doesn't work that way."

"You would make a terrible attorney," Jefferson grumbled as they trudged on. "All of your arguments are far too subjective to sway any of your objective peers."

"You make a terrible member of the 21st century." Vern countered.

"Perhaps I ought to stay longer, then," Jefferson said decidedly. "If I practice existing in the 21st century, I might perfect the craft."

"No. No way." Vern shook her head, her tone adamant. "The minute I get my car fixed, you're going back to Monticello. I just have to find someone to tow the car, and then a shop to fix it."

"How long do you think that will take?"

Vern frowned. "Too long."

Day 3

"Okay. If you're going to be here for the next couple of days, I need to take you shopping. You don't exactly blend in wearing colonial garb, and besides that, you're sweating everywhere. Maybe we should get you deodorant." Vern told Jefferson as they sat in the backseat of an uber. Vern had class and couldn't miss any more of it to take care of Thomas Jefferson. Instead, she was just bringing him along to class with her.

"What is deodorant?"

"Okay." Vern accepted his answer with a sigh.

"What class are we attending?" Jefferson didn't seem to mind changing the subject. He'd begun to accept that he would not learn about everything new in the span of time that he was permitted to exist in the 21st century. So, he carefully selected the things he chose to obsess about. Laptops and cell phones were his favorites. He had also dedicated the evening before to learning how to make pizza. The bread machine outwitted him several times before he created anything that resembled a crust.

"History of the French Revolution." Vern suddenly realized that this was not the class that she ought to bring Jefferson to. Her eyes narrowed. "Where you will not participate. I am going to tell my professor that you are a foreign exchange student that I'm taking to the Monticello tour after class. Do you understand? If you speak English, a professor that I need to write letters of recommendations for me next year will know that I lied to him."

"Honesty is the best policy." Thomas Jefferson was so fucking sanctimonious.

"If I try to tell my professor that you are a founding father who has been brought to the 21st century, I'll either be stuck in an insane asylum, or the government will try to hold you hostage and figure out how you got here." Vern snapped.

"The government has no right to detain me."

"Maybe not in the 18th century, but it's fine in the 21st century."

Jefferson pouted as they exited the uber and approached the liberal arts building.

"Not another word." Vern reminded him before pushing open the door.

* * *

"But surely the Americans were _tempted_ to offer the French alliance during their time of revolution." Vern really should have known that Thomas Jefferson – icon of not listening to authority figures – would not listen to her when she told him to stay quiet. "Were there not meetings?"

"America maintained a neutral policy throughout the revolution." The professor confirmed patiently. It was his fifth time trying to get across the point of American neutrality. Jefferson had ruined each previous attempt by arguing that _some_ Americans had been in favor of supporting the revolution. The professor seemed to think that Jefferson was just a strange family member that Vern had been forced to bring to class. Vern was mortified. She could kiss that letter of recommendation goodbye.

The professor looked down at his watch and frowned. "And it looks like we're out of time, folks. More on American relations next time. And, uh, Vern, would you stay after?"

Vern nodded, waiting for the shuffle of students eager to leave the classroom to distract the professor before turning to glower at Jefferson. "God fucking damn it."

Jefferson's eyes widened, but he quickly regained his arrogance. "Using such language is hardly ladylike."

"I told you to do _one thing_."

"No one wants to marry a woman who uses fouler language than a common sailor."

" _One thing_ , Thomas, and you couldn't even do that. You couldn't keep your mouth shut for an hour and fifteen minutes. Why couldn't you just do that? Now I won't get the letter of recommendation, and two years of goodwill that I've worked so hard to accrue is down the drain. Why would you do that to me?" Vern was to the point of tears. She wasn't the type to cry, but when she did, it was always out of anger. It took a lot for Vern to grow so angry that she could cry, but Jefferson had managed the feat to perfection.

"Think about the position that I've found myself in," Jefferson's voice had softened, but it had also cooled. He did not meet her eyes. He was staring fixedly at a pencil teetering on the edge of the table that they were sitting at. "I have found myself in a country that I do not know, in a time when everyone that I have ever met, ever loved, is dead. I am a fish out of water here. Everything that I do seems to be incorrect. This is the first place that I feel as though I know a single thing. You'll have to excuse me for not sitting in the corner and allowing it to pass me by."

"Vern." The professor was ready for her. Vern frowned at Jefferson as she rose from her seat. She was still angry. In fact, she might have been _angrier_ than she was a moment ago. She was angry with Jefferson for attempting to ruin her perfectly good reason for being mad at him.

"Please wait outside." Her voice trembled as she fought back the tears burning her eyes.

Jefferson stared at her for a second before rising from his seat and walking out of the classroom. Vern took a deep, shaky breath in an effort to compose herself before walking to the front of the room, where the professor was waiting for her.

"Your friend was very disruptive today." The professor told her, as though she wasn't perfectly aware.

"I know. I'm so sorry. I made him promise that he wouldn't be – that he would just sit there quietly until class was over. I had no idea that he would –"

"Veronica," The professor interrupted her. "I'm not talking about his questions. His questions were fine. I get questions like those every single class. I'm talking about his clothes. You had to know that anyone with such a… _unique_ appearance would be a distraction."

"I understand. I'm working with him on that."

"Good." The professor rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked through the window pane near the classroom door. Jefferson could be seen pacing in front of the door. "Vern, you aren't seeing this man… _intimately_ , are you?"

"Professor Rehnquist?" Vern asked, dumbfounded by the question.

The professor's face was scarlet. It was obvious that he did not enjoy asking the question any more than Vern was enjoying answering it.

"That man. He isn't your boyfriend, is he?"

"No, he isn't."

"Good." The professor nodded approvingly. Realizing his wildly inappropriate conduct, his face reddened further. He shook his head and blinked furiously. "Of course, who you date is entirely your choice; I just want to make sure that you don't let someone like him bog you down. You're a bright girl; I would hate to see it all thrown away for a man."

"I understand," Vern faked a smile even though she very much did not understand. "But you should understand that managing my friends isn't a part of your job description. Thank you."

She turned on her heel and walked out of the classroom before the professor said anything else about Jefferson and his unique appearance. As she threw open the classroom door, feeling mildly triumphant about standing up for her – was it friendship? – with Jefferson, she hit him with the door while he was pacing in front of it. He leapt back, looking at her reproachfully. Vern smiled apologetically.

"Are you in very much trouble?"

"Maybe." Vern shrugged. "But that's okay. Professor Rehnquist might not be worth all of the sucking up, anyway."

"Have you forgiven me?" Jefferson's eyes were bright, but his mouth was curved down into a frown. It looked as though he was hopeful, but didn't want Vern to know so. He didn't dare curse it just yet.

"Let's go to the mall," Vern didn't answer his question. Mostly because she didn't want to deal with the self-satisfied smile that he'd cast her if he knew that she had. "If you're going to be here until my car is fixed, you need to blend in a little better. Besides that, your clothes are filthy and I have absolutely no idea how to wash colonial clothes."

"What is a mall?" Jefferson fell into his usual pattern of questioning while Vern called for another uber driver.

* * *

"I don't understand!" Jefferson howled, his mouth full of pizza. He was lounging on the couch in the living room, watching 13 Going on 30 with Vern and Maggie. He looked over at Vern, pouting. It was as though he thought that she was responsible for the movie's production. "Why has she not considered the other fellow, the athletic one? He was handsome, wealthy, and interested in her."

"He wasn't Matt," Maggie replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves Matt."

"She just met him!" Jefferson protested.

"They've been childhood friends for years." Vern countered.

"I hardly consider friendships harbored in one's youth to be a fair reflection of one's relations as an adult." Jefferson proclaimed. He took another massive bite of pizza. He had eaten nothing other than pizza since trying his first slice. He had an obsessive streak about him. "If I had married the first little girl that I played with as a child, why, I cannot even imagine the repercussions."

"You're a weird fella, Tom," Maggie remarked with a lazy smile, taking a bite of her own piece of pizza. She had accepted Jefferson's presence with little fuss or muss. She didn't ask Vern why he stayed over nearly every night. She didn't ask why he spoke like he was from a different year, or why he was constantly asking what things were, or how they worked. The only question she asked was, "Can I have a slice of pizza?" And Jefferson, God bless him, he always said yes.

Jefferson looked at Vern, frowning. Vern smiled at him reassuringly; hoping that he understood that the word "weird" did not have the same damning implications that they did in the 18th century. Judging from his placated smile, it appeared as though Jefferson received the message loud and clear.

"Anyway," Vern said, mostly to avoid smiling at Jefferson for an awkward amount of time. "He's Mark Ruffalo. That's reason alone to wait around."

"Retweet." Maggie agreed in the ironic, but not quite ironic enough, way that only she could pull off.

"Retweet?" Jefferson echoed, turning to Vern yet again.

Vern just shrugged by way of informing him that the word was quite inconsequential to him.

"I am going to procure another piece of pizza." Jefferson had finally learned to pronounce it correctly. It was a milestone.

"Grab me one while you're up!" Maggie exclaimed as Jefferson struggled to his feet. Her mouth was full of pizza and she had at least two more slices on her plate, but it appeared that she intended to sit in her favorite chair for just as long as she could get away with. Not having to get her own food lengthened that time. "Get me a soda while you're at it."

"Do you have any more wine?" Jefferson called over his shoulder, slipping and sliding across the floor towards the kitchen. He was still getting used to socks.

Vern had taken him to the mall for all new clothing, which had been much simpler than she had initially thought it would be. It seemed that Thomas Jefferson really didn't care what he was wearing, so long as he was wearing _something_. Getting his hair cut had been a far bigger struggle. He squirmed every time the barber touched his hair, and he refused to make small talk. He claimed that he should not be forced to have a conversation with someone whom he was paying. Vern tended to agree, but couldn't very well say so in front of the offended barber. But all of the effort (and money) spent on creating Jefferson's modern-day look was worth it, if for no other reason than enjoying the sight of him trying to manage hardwood floors while wearing socks for the very first time.

"Mm, I don't know. Is the box already empty?" Maggie asked, not looking away from the TV.

"I should say so," Jefferson answered, glaring down at the box sitting in the recycle bin.

He had also grown quite fond of boxed wine over the past few days.

"Ugh, _Vern_ ," Maggie turned to look at Vern with a dissatisfied frown. "It was your turn to pick up the booze."

"I've been a little busy."

"What on this earth could be more important than picking up the wine?" Maggie complained.

Perhaps a founding father trapped in the 21st century?

"You're right," Vern said, instead. "Of course, you're right. I'll go pick some up tomorrow. I promise. Thomas, do you think that you could go without wine for one night?"

Jefferson sighed, as though Vern were asking him if he could go off to war for a few months. "I suppose if I must, I must. What do you propose I drink instead?"

"How about water?" Vern tried.

Jefferson's eyes widened. "At this time of year? But yellow fever must be running rampant by now!"

Maggie didn't even notice that strange concern of his. "The liquor store is just a short walk from here."

"No," Vern replied firmly. "We would get mugged."

"You'd protect her, wouldn't you, Tom?" Maggie finally tore her eyes away from the TV long enough to cast Jefferson the same flirtatious smile that she afforded anyone new. If she had to be a flirt, Maggie was at least an indiscriminate one.

"I wouldn't want him to protect me," Vern had read enough history books to know that Jefferson had fled from the British soldiers when they moseyed into his part of Virginia. He was the very last person that she would want protecting her from muggers. "Just drink some soda."

"Soda." Jefferson's eyebrows furrowed as he pulled a can of Diet Coke. He struggled with the tab for a moment before it clicked open. He jumped at the noise, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Vern pretended not to notice in order to spare his feelings. Maggie didn't have to pretend; she was fully absorbed with the movie. Feeling emboldened by the fact that no one had seen his embarrassing moment, Jefferson took a small, experimental sip of it. "It's so sweet."

"Mm." Maggie made a vague noise, not looking away from the TV. "Are you bringing me pizza?"

"Yes," Jefferson piled two slices of pizza on a plate before returning to his seat on the couch. He handed off the pizza to Maggie and began to sip cautiously at his soda. Vern tried her best to ignore him but found herself glancing in his direction every few minutes.

* * *

"I can't sleep." Jefferson mumbled from the floor for maybe the fifteenth time since Vern had declared that she was going to go to bed.

Vern cracked a single eye open. Her eyelid protested, weighing itself down heavily. "You shouldn't have had five sodas in a row."

"I cannot believe that people purchase such terrible beverages." Jefferson groaned. "How ever did Maggie get to sleep?"

"She's used to it."

"I never want to become accustomed to such a vile sensation," Jefferson said decidedly. "I will never drink soda again."

"Okay. We'll get you more wine tomorrow. Now go to sleep. I have an early class tomorrow."

Day 4

"That is incorrect."

"How do you know?"

"I was there."

Vern was working on a paper while Jefferson nitpicked every single line that she wrote. At present, her thesis was on the political implications of Versailles. Jefferson was sitting beside her, eating pizza and drinking boxed wine.

"You weren't around for the renovation of Versailles." Vern rolled her eyes. Jefferson always pretended he knew more about France than he really did. It was as though he felt that he should be considered the sole creator of France as a country.

"No, but I was in Versailles a great deal. I was able to see how the citizens reacted to its grandeur." Jefferson argued.

"You left before the revolution took place."

"There was buildup prior to the revolution," Jefferson insisted. "Revolutions do not simply appear out of thin air."

"Even if you could tell me something that I couldn't find on academic databases," Vern interjected with a sigh. "How would I cite your words? The Chicago formatting manual doesn't really have any instructions for citing a source that time traveled from the 18th century to the 21st century."

"Why must you cite a source?" Jefferson still didn't quite understand the necessity of citations. He lived in a simpler time; a time without honor code violations. "Would it not simply do to tell the truth?"

"But how will my professor know that I'm telling the truth if I don't tell him where I found this information?"

"Does he not trust you?" Jefferson seemed appalled.

"It's just a standard that all of the students are held to." Vern shrugged.

"It seems quite unreasonable."

"Well, that's the education system for you."

Jefferson pouted. He didn't like it when things didn't make perfect sense. He'd struggled time and time again for a country that made perfect sense to him. It infuriated him that the logic had only lasted for so long.

"Versailles was a place of more lavish behavior than I have ever seen," He said, mostly for his own comfort. He was going to tell Vern about France regardless of whether she intended to use his information in her paper or not. "Even the peacocks had gold collars. And the young king, well, he was no more than a boy! Shame on France for allowing such insanity. It really is no wonder that the two children – Louis and Marie, I mean – sparked a revolution. The queen was so worried about maintaining her luxuries that she did not allow the economy to afford the French people _bread_."

"Mm," Vern already knew all of this. "Did you ever talk to Marie Antoinette?"

"Very rarely was I given the opportunity." Jefferson answered, apparently thrilled that Vern was asking him about something he knew very much about. "Though I did attend a couple of dinner parties in which she was present. I was not seated near enough to entertain an intimate conversation with her – nor do I believe that I would have found very much to say to her – though I did converse with a number of her ladies. She seemed to me a very silly girl, very superficial in personality."

"Why didn't you talk to her more often? Maybe you could have taught her how to be a better leader. She was smarter than her husband, after all." Vern wasn't paying much attention to the conversation, but it was keeping Jefferson from arguing with every single thing that she included in her paper. That was well worth the minor amount of effort that she was putting into the conversation.

"Do you believe that she was?" Jefferson asked, seemingly surprised.

"I don't see how she couldn't be," Vern didn't have time to call Jefferson out for being sexist. He was from the 18th century. She would let it slide, just this once. "And anyway, you learned firsthand from the mistakes that George III made. Shouldn't you have just advised Louis XVI on being a better leader instead of inciting the people to revolt?"

"Monarchy is a sin," Jefferson said, as though he was scandalized that he even needed to explain this.

"I'm just saying," Vern shrugged, rewriting her conclusion for the fourth time. "The revolution worked out terribly for them. Napoleon rode in and formed a dictatorship, and then they brought back the monarchy. Revolting didn't do them a shred of good."

"Only because America did not honor the treaty that we made during our own revolution!" Jefferson was excited now. "Had it not been for Secretary Hamilton conniving and influencing the ideas of President Washington -"

"I don't think that was it at all. They pulled off the coup just fine – they killed their king – but they didn't have the right men or the right ideals," Vern clicked 'print' on the document and settled back in her chair. Now that she was finished with her paper, she could focus on the argument. "If you'd had someone who was more interested in his own self-interest and resorted to militant measures to ensure that no one deviated from his ideals, America could have burned to the ground, too. I think George Washington saved the country."

"It is impossible to say." Jefferson pouted.

"Right," Vern smirked, yanking the paper off of the printer and stapling them together. "Well, you have a lot of time to think of a better argument. I'm going to school to turn this in. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

"Maggie is here, is she not?"

"She is, but I don't know if she'll be awake anytime soon. She doesn't have class today."

"Is there pizza?"

"Yes."

"Then I believe that I will be fine."

"Okay." Vern didn't quite believe him, but she didn't have time to argue, either.

Day 5

"What do you want to do for dinner tonight?" Maggie asked lazily, turning to look at Vern and Jefferson.

It was incredible, really. Jefferson had been a resident of the apartment for only five days, and he had already become a part of the household. It was strange how one of America's founding fathers could become so much like a 21st-century roommate in such a short duration of time.

"Pizza," Jefferson said decidedly.

"Ugh," Maggie complained, looking at Vern pleadingly. "I never thought that I would say this, but I'm _tired_ of pizza."

"Me too." Vern agreed glumly.

Jefferson frowned. "But I enjoy it so."

"How do you know that there isn't something else you'd like better?" Vern asked him, in a tone that very much resembled the one she would use when her toddler niece and nephew weren't sharing with one another.

Jefferson pouted just like Vern's niece and nephew did. "What do you propose?"

"Literally anything that doesn't involve marinara sauce and mozzarella," Maggie interjected.

"How about Morty's?" Vern suggested with a small smile.

Maggie's eyes lit up. "Morty's? Really? You _never_ want to go to Morty's!"

Morty's was a new bar that had opened up near campus the past year. The indoors part of the bar was tiny; there was no seating, only a counter at which you got your drinks and any food that you might have ordered. The rest of the bar was an open courtyard. There were games of cornhole to play, frisbees lying everywhere, and often some terrible John Mayer cover band. Let's just say it: college kids are the worst.

"They've got a big menu, and it'll get us up and away from the TV and the boxes of pizza." Plus, there wouldn't be any technology at Morty's. Vern was growing tired of Jefferson's constant stream of, "what is that? How does it work?"

"I'm game," Maggie remarked. "Your car or mine?"

"Considering mine is in the shop," Vern reminded her with an extreme eye roll. "I'd say yours is the safer bet."

"Right. Okay, let me just get my jacket." Maggie hopped off of the couch and hurried off towards her room.

"Good. That gives me time to review what words are not acceptable to say to your server in the 21st century," Vern turned on Jefferson the moment that Maggie was out of earshot. "Do you still have the list that I gave you?"

"Is your intent to sound as patronizing as is humanly possible?" Jefferson asked, producing the list that Vern had written him following the tow truck debacle from his back pocket.

"No. That's just an added bonus." Vern smirked. "Okay, Mags, we're going to meet you in the car!"

* * *

"You're lousy at this." Vern teased as she threw yet another beanbag into the "cornhole." Jefferson pouted and handed his beanbag to Maggie. Maggie laughed and threw it for him. It landed inside the very same "cornhole."

"Cheater." Vern accused him without much malice.

"Listen, some things don't come naturally to people like our Tom." Five days and Maggie was already calling him 'our Tom'. "For example, buying wine without getting carded."

Jefferson had tried to purchase wine from the bar when they had first arrived at the bar, but had been at a loss when the bartender requested that he show some form of ID. Any sort of ID he might have had, he'd left behind in the 18th century. So he had to settle for a bottle of water. Maggie let him sneak sips of her margarita and teased him all the while.

"Oh, I don't mind," Vern moved on, not wanting Maggie to grow suspicious about why Jefferson might not have ID. "This is actually a nice change for me. I've never beaten anyone at cornhole before."

"It's true." Maggie told Jefferson conspiratorially. "She came here to work on a group project with one of her groups. They made a bet; whoever lost a game of cornhole had to write the entire paper. Not only did Vern lose that game – she also lost the subsequent game and had to pay for everyone's drinks."

"No," Jefferson's mouth curled into a grin. Who ever knew that Thomas Jefferson loved gossip so much?

"Yes," Vern admitted with a sigh. "But now the tables have turned. Now I'm better than you!"

"For now." Maggie countered. "Until I train him up to beat you."

Yeah, Maggie still thought that Jefferson was a permanent entity in their lives. Though he had grown on Vern in the few days that he had not been so horribly racist and sexist, he still had to go back to Monticello. He belonged there. He very much did not belong in the 21st century.

"It might be best to allow Vern this victory," Jefferson suggested with a kind smile. "It is simpler that way."

Judging from the look on his face, he knew that his days left in the 21st century were limited, too.

"I'm all for simplicity." Maggie agreed easily. She held up her massive margarita as though she was making a toast. "To the simplest three suckers in all of Virginia."

Vern raised her glass but rolled her eyes. Jefferson raised his glass of water only marginally but nodded in recognition of the sentiment.

"To us." He murmured thoughtfully.

Day 6

"My car is ready? That's great. Thank you so much. I'll be by later today. Sure, yes, I'll pay it right away. Thank you so much." Vern hung up the phone slowly, not meeting Jefferson's eyes as she did. She sucked in a deep breath, trying very hard to think of the right words to say.

She needn't have worried. When it came to words, Jefferson was never at a loss. "Time to go home, I suppose?"

"Yeah," Vern nodded, fighting the tiny part of her that considered keeping Jefferson in the 21st century forever. "I think that's for the best. I'm sure you miss your life; the time, the people, actually knowing what everything is…"

"I miss it very much." Jefferson allowed with a smile.

"Okay." Vern sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "Well, I have to wait for Maggie to come back from her class before I can pick up my car, and I think that by the time we got to Monticello, admissions would be closed for the day. I don't really want to try to sneak in – as a history major, I probably shouldn't be convicted of trespassing at a historic facility, right?"

"Correct."

"Then you've still got one night left in the 21st century," Vern was slightly relieved that she did not have to say goodbye just yet. "Is there anything that you're dying to do before you go?"

Jefferson grinned.

* * *

"Left! _Left_! Oh my -!" Vern covered her eyes as her car shuddered and bucked under Jefferson's abuse of the gas pedal and brakes.

It seemed that Jefferson had not lost interest in driving a car since arriving in the 21st century. He had begged Vern to let him drive at least once before he was to go back to Monticello. Though she had just gotten her car back – and none too cheaply – Vern reluctantly agreed and brought him to an abandoned parking lot where he could only do minimal damage. Jefferson didn't seem to mind the parking lot. He was much more focused on the mechanics of driving than he was on the promise of a new destination.

"Who devised this abominable steering wheel?" Jefferson demanded as he compensated far too much for his right side and sent the car careening towards the left side of the parking lot. Vern slumped lower in her seat and pressed her hands to her eyes, not wanting to see death approaching with each lurch of the car. "It is impossible to get any kind of direction properly!"

"Then maybe we should stop the car," Vern suggested meekly, not removing her hand from her eyes.

"No!" Jefferson spoke more to himself than he did to Vern. "I must master this motorized carriage before I return home."

"Why?"

"I just must!"

Jefferson was remarkably stubborn and rarely had a reason to be. But Vern knew this and settled back in her seat with her hands pressed firmly against her eyes.

It took him nearly three hours to drive clear across the parking lot without swerving or slamming on the brakes when he felt that he was going too fast. It was then that he turned to Vern and proudly proclaimed that he had mastered the motorized carriage. Vern was just relieved that both she and her car had survived the three hours without sustaining any injuries.

At that point, Jefferson had a new goal in mind – he wanted to go to a buffet. Vern had apparently convinced him that there was food other than pizza that he needed to try, and he wanted to try it all in one fell swoop. So Vern did the only reasonable thing she could think of. She took Thomas Jefferson to Golden Corral.

It was a mistake. Above all other things, it was a huge, messy, tear-filled, sauce-smeared, mistake.

"Don't you throw up again." She commanded as she helped him stagger through the parking lot to the car. "Don't you dare throw up again."

"How are people meant to survive a house of such temptations?" Jefferson moaned, tripping over a rock and placing all of his gangly weight on Vern. Vern recoiled as the scent of stomach acid radiated from his clothing, and pushed him back onto his feet.

"You never go into a buffet without a plan," Vern admonished. "I told you that when we got started. You eat light things – salad, veggies, the works – then you move to meat. You finish with carbs. You never _start_ with carbs!"

"But the macaroni and cheese was so good. And it was full of _spices_." Jefferson whined. "Do you understand how rare spices are?"

"A box of mac and cheese is a dollar at Walmart." Vern rolled her eyes.

" _Walma_ -ugh." Jefferson tried to inquire about Walmart, but his stomach got the better of him. Vern eyed him warily. He had already thrown up in the handicap stall of the Golden Corral's bathroom. She did not want to witness another exorcist-style regurgitation.

"Why don't we stop talking for now?" She suggested, mostly so that Jefferson would keep his mouth shut until he was within reach of a bathroom – preferably _Maggie's_ bathroom.

Jefferson mumbled his agreement as they climbed into the car.

* * *

"As god as my witness, I will never eat macaroni and cheese again." Jefferson groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

He'd been so adamant about sleeping on the floor of Vern's room – Vern had been pretty adamant about it, herself – but they had reached an agreement on his last night in the 21st century. Because he was sick, and because he had proven time and time again that he had no interest in Vern as anything other than a tour guide to the 21st century, Vern allowed him to sleep on the side of the bed that she never used. She still erected a wall of pillows between them, though.

"I think I can hear James Madison crying with relief." Vern mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Hm." Jefferson's whiny tone changed to an introspective one. "Jemmie."

"Mm." Vern made a noncommittal noise to shut him up.

"Vern," Jefferson did not shut up. He turned on his side, peering over the pillow fort at Vern. Vern cracked open one eye and shifted her head to look back at him. "Do you think that if you went to Montpelier on Jemmie's birthday, he might appear, too?"

"I don't know, Thomas. I didn't think that you would appear, to begin with."

"Me neither," Jefferson said, beginning to fidget. "But surely it would be worth a try, would it not?"

"I don't know, Thomas."

"Vern," Jefferson was not willing to let Vern blow off this conversation. "Would you promise me something?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Jemmie's birthday is just before mine; March 16th. Would you go to Montpelier next year on that day? Just…just to see. I think that he would like all of this. I know that he would like you."

"I don't want to fuck James Madison." Vern wasn't great at filtering herself when she was half-asleep.

"Really, Vern, your capacity to behave in a ladylike manner is astounding." Jefferson snarked. "I am not asking you to court Jemmie. _Of course_ I am not asking you to court Jemmie. He is a married man. I am merely asking that you show him the world, the way that you have shown me. It might hearten him. He gets so disheartened, you know."

"I'll take your word for it."

"I am prepared to make this request as many times as it requires for you to agree." Jefferson persisted.

"Fine, Thomas. _Fine_. I will go get James Madison on his birthday and bring him to Golden Corral. Would you please let me go to sleep, now?" Vern asked irritably.

"Yes," Jefferson said, satisfied. "Thank you, Vern."

Day 7

"Do not forget the promise that you made to me," Jefferson reminded Vern as they stood just outside the gates of Monticello. He was wearing his colonial clothes again. He had tried to tie his shorter, shaggier hair into a ponytail with a ribbon. It didn't look great, but Vern didn't have the heart to tell him so. He was so excited to return to all of his friends in the 18th century. Vern hoped that his haircut would not go back with him. "You will fetch Jemmie on March 16th."

"You wrote it on every calendar you could find in my apartment." Vern reminded him with a smile. "I will remember."

"You may also fetch me next year, if you are so inclined."

"I'm counting the days." Vern agreed with a smile and a nod.

She was, too. She knew that she would feel Jefferson's absence acutely in the days following his disappearance. He had become a fixture in the apartment very quickly. Neither of them had told Maggie that he was leaving. As far as she knew, they were just going to see a movie. Vern had been brainstorming different excuses to tell her when she did not return home with Jefferson.

"I…" Jefferson looked down at his buckled shoes, fidgeting with his hands as he searched for the right words. He looked back up at Vern after a moment, his chartreuse eyes soft. "Thank you, Vern. I mean it. I know that I was not the simplest guest you have received, but make no mistake, I am the most appreciative. I will always remember this week with great fondness."

"Me too." Vern was startled to realize that tears were pricking her eyes. Since when did she cry at goodbyes?

"Sir, are you the impersonator we hired over the phone?" A middle-aged woman in a bright pink blouse and an olive pair of slacks that did not fit her pear-shaped body appeared at the gate. She looked at Jefferson inquisitively.

Jefferson turned to look at her oddly for a moment before returning his attention to Vern. "I suppose it is time for me to make my departure, then. Thank you, Vern. For everything."

"Don't sound so final," Vern said, her voice thick as she struggled with herself not to cry. "I'll be back next year, remember?"

"Of course." Jefferson smiled gravely and nodded. "I look forward to it immensely. Goodbye, Vern."

"Bye, Thomas." The words were barely audible as Vern watched Jefferson cross the gates to the woman in the pink top and olive slacks. She began rattling off instructions to him, all of which he disregarded. He kept walking down the path towards the tomb, where Vern had first met him. The woman called after him a few times before throwing her hands up in dismay and returning to the ticket booth, most likely to complain to the supervisor. Vern had to laugh. The supervisor would be hard pressed to find Jefferson when they arrived.

But the supervisor could find her. Knowing that she would soon be asked questions about her quirky friend, Vern returned to the parking lot and climbed into her car. It felt so empty without Jefferson sitting in the passenger seat, rattling off questions about everything he saw. Fern tried to push these thoughts aside as she started the car.

Yet, as she emerged from the parking lot and onto the highway, she found herself taking a route that she knew would not lead to home. In just an hour's time, she found herself standing in front of Montpelier's gates. Tears had begun to fall from her eyes at some point during the drive. She wiped them away with the sleeves of her cardigan.

"You're next, Madison." She said resolutely, wiping at her eyes.

She could only imagine what the other founding father had in store for her.

* * *

 **HAPPY JEFFERSON'S BIRTHDAY, Y'ALL. I know I am neglecting like 80 other things to get this done for no other reason than it will bring me a small sense of triumph, but when you're in law school, you'll do what you can to get any triumph where you can find it.**

 **ANYWAY.**

 **Enjoy!**

 ***Okay, some people have called into question the part about Marie Antoinette. Listen, I know she was ridiculous and not really smarter than Louis XVI. BUT please remember that Vern is a student in a French history class, and Jefferson didn't exist in a time when information was so freely available. She's not going to know everything yet. If she were a perfect expert, she wouldn't be all that realistic. Jefferson, meanwhile, had some pretty biased feelings on the monarchy and was prone to blaming the monarchy as opposed to the class structure (especially as a Virginian aristocrat). Let us never forget him blaming George III for the slave trade while owning hundreds of slaves himself. I took an entire course in the Revolution in undergrad and got the highest grade in the class. It isn't for lack of research that I've made her say some false things. It's for the sake of realism.**


End file.
